


they keep it all under my bed

by paperclipbitch



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Bottom Matt Murdock, Character Study, F/M, Friendship, Hair-pulling, Mild Kink, No Plot/Plotless, No Spoilers, Oral Sex, Pegging, Smut, everyone is ridiculous especially me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: “Are you kidding me?” Jessica asks, flat, and Matt quirks an eyebrow.  “Jesus Christ, everyone’s right, you have no sense of self-preservation.  What’re you gonna do next, ask Danny to fist you?”“Well,” Matt says carefully, “no.”





	they keep it all under my bed

**Author's Note:**

> [Title from _Comics_ by Caravan Palace] No real _Defenders_ spoilers because this is set in some handwavy time where everyone is a team now and fine. This isn't an active ship of mine but I've always wanted them to shag a couple of times, let's face it. I can't believe I haven't finished anything for months and this is what I manage to whack together tonight, ah well.

It started – of course – like most things start: with Jessica saying in a fierce kind of half-whisper: “you’d better not tell anyone about this.”

Murdock – _Matt_ ¬– laughed, one of those ones that crinkle up his face and make him look almost boyish, dimples and eye crinkles and god, so many chicks must’ve dropped their panties for that smile. “Okay,” he said, one of his big, warm hands bleeding warmth through the knee of Jessica’s jeans, and: “are you scared that if Danny finds out he’s the only one who hasn’t been to bed with you, he’ll demand it as some kind of team-building thing?”

Jessica huffed a half-laugh of her own, all alcohol and disdain, nothing like Matt’s. “C’mon,” she said, “I’m me and even I know it’s bad manners to fuck the intern.”

Matt’s laugh was lost in another kiss, this one longer, slower than the previous ones they’d shared, crammed on Matt’s shitty couch, beer bottles tipping off the coffee table, they’re friends now or something like it, and that billboard she’s heard so much about really _is_ obnoxious, ugly firework crackles behind her eyelids. Matt kisses like the guy he might once have been, or tried to be, or thought about being for a few months sometime in college; all sweet and honourable, thorough and caring, like he’d buy you flowers just _because_ , like you’d take him home and your mom would adore him and he’d compliment her pie and ask for seconds.

If Jessica hadn’t seen him break a man’s bones into shards she might’ve stopped kissing him right there, no matter the camaraderie and the alcohol and the promise of no strings – well, no more strings than the ones they already have, anyway, whatever the fuck this team thing even _means_ anymore – because she’s never been interested in sweet. But she bit and he bit back and the couch creaked under them, and Jessica pondered warning him she’d probably put a hand through his drywall before this was over, before recalling that he probably wouldn’t notice at the time and it’s not like he’d ever see the damage afterwards. 

This has the potential to be a clusterfuck, a disaster, which was probably what drew Jessica to this in the first place: drinking with Matt Murdock in his shithole apartment, all high ceilings and real estate _dreams_ bathed in shitty neon and idle debris. They’re maybe friends, or whatever, and it’s not like the guy isn’t hot and damaged and at least they’re not at her place: even more depressing and with the likelihood of Malcolm letting himself in for groceries (yeah, he probably paid for them in the first place, but _c’mon_ ) halfway through. Matt’s got his fortress of loneliness all laid out and locked up, and Jessica’s never been averse to crashing someone else’s pity party.

Still, it was cool when Matt picked her up, her top lost somewhere behind his couch, his tie still wrapped around her left hand where she’d pulled it off, and carried her through to his bedroom, footsteps sure, not stumbling in the dark, tongue still doing something to Jessica’s mouth that she’ll maybe have to ask him for notes about later. He deposited her on the bed in a heap of graceless limbs and she pulled him down with her, fingers raking that fluffy hair that makes him look like a dork when he forgets to smooth it flat, teeth sinking into his lower lip. She couldn’t read exactly what Matt wanted out of this – though she’d enjoyed the way the corner of his mouth quirked, a filthy smirk, when he answered her garbled offer with: “sure, let’s fuck”, all slow and certain, girls love a guy with a handicap that leaves them pretty, and Jessica can’t remember if she told him that or if he said it, self-deprecating and reaching for another bottle of beer. Whatever this is, it has the potential to go really badly, to get really messy: that probably means they’ll be okay. Both of them know what they’re doing.

Matt’s body is a patchwork of scars; Jessica has a handful of her own, but nothing like the fucking _disaster_ zone that is Matt’s skin, the chaos pattern of bruising that apparently never fades, just moves around, because he doesn’t learn, doesn’t listen, doesn’t stop. His stubble scraped Jessica’s throat as he mouthed her pulse point – “if you say any creepy shit about my heartbeat, I swear to God-” – broad hands stripping her of her jeans. Jessica can say that for blind guys now: they really know how to do it all by feel. Maybe that’s how he got her out of her bra so easy; maybe Matt’s just a dark horse, and it’s probably gonna be the latter, it usually is with the ones who look all cute during the day and go out at night in a fucking stupid costume.

She already told him that missionary’s boring and that foreplay is for people with dull marriages they’re hoping won’t break down but which will anyway, and Matt had said “noted” with that expression where she can’t tell if he’s amused or a little saddened and he’s probably not sure either. Jessica’s had enough sex over the years, some of it good, some of it awful, some of it so blurred by drink she spent the morning after deciding not to assemble all the sordid little pieces, and it wasn’t exactly clear which category this was going to fall into. All in all, from the first bottle cap falling to the floor to the moment Matt fumbled in his nightstand for presumably condoms, Jessica couldn’t figure this night out, even if she’d orchestrated it, even if she’d a little bit wanted it since she talked about Matt’s father and watched his expression blossom complicated across his face. 

Instead of condoms, though, there’s this: a twist Jessica admittedly didn’t see coming.

“Are you kidding me?” she asks, flat, and Matt quirks an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ, everyone’s right, you have no sense of self-preservation. What’re you gonna do next, ask Danny to fist you?”

There’s a moment of silence while both of them digest those words.

“Well,” Matt says carefully, “no.”

Jessica isn’t sure if she starts laughing first or if he does, but eventually they’re sprawled across the sheets gasping for breath, laughter breaking whatever fragile mood they were trying or failing to make. It’s good; it feels good.

“Is this a Catholic thing?” she asks. Matt quirks his head, mouth pressing a little at the corners like it always does when you bring up his faith. “Knowing you’re gonna tell your priest everything in a couple of days, does it make you want to up the kink?”

“I’m not going to tell him the whole thing,” Matt replies, an edge of grumbling, but by now Jessica’s propped up against the headboard again, examining the ridiculously sized dildo Matt handed her a couple of minutes ago. Jessica’s not unfamiliar with sex toys and it won’t be exactly the first time she’s strapped one on, but this is big enough to make her narrow her eyes, slant a doubtful glance at Matt that he can’t see but can possibly sense anyway.

Jessica decides to leave the needling about priests for later – she’ll put a pin in it, save it for another day – in favour of saying: “you’re aware I’m really strong, right?”

“It’s come up, yeah.” Matt is still lounging in the sheets, looking gorgeous and ruffled and ridiculous.

“But you want me to put on a strap-on and fuck you,” Jessica continues. Matt shrugs a bruised shoulder. “And it didn’t occur to you that I might, I don’t know, be able to fuck this out through your stomach or anything.”

Matt blinks a few times. “I think I can safely say that that didn’t occur to me, no.”

Jessica weighs the dildo in her hand; it’s not like she isn’t tempted.

“Okay then,” she says, “you got any lube?”

Matt does, it turns out. Jessica lies back and idly plays with a nipple while he fingers himself open; she thought about offering to do it for him, but there’s something satisfying about watching him do it to himself, biting his lip in concentration, no idea what he looks like right now. Devil of Hell’s kitchen, breathing sharply, sweat breaking out across his forehead as the lube squishes obscenely and his fingers curl into his body. She doesn’t say anything, but she doubts that she needs to; Matt can probably hear her heartbeat speeding up, smell the wetness building up between her thighs.

It’s a little hot, a little creepy: this part, at least, was something Jessica was expecting.

It’s been a while since Jessica last used a strap-on, but she waves away Matt’s slightly strained offers of help: they don’t need two sets of awkwardly fumbling hands. Briefly, Jessica wonders who last did this to Matt, and then decides she doesn’t want to know, that’s a line that doesn’t need crossing.

“Okay,” she says finally, when she’s managed the buckles and wiggled the thankfully much smaller additional dildo into her cunt, “okay, let’s do this.”

Matt moves from where he’s slumped in the sheets to kneel in front of her, hands and knees, ass raised. Jessica looks up from where she’s been meticulously spreading lube on her silicon cock – she really doesn’t want the inevitable embarrassing trip to the ER or to the possibly even more embarrassing phone call to Claire that screwing up will involve – and nearly swallows her own tongue. Matt beats people to a pulp with his nights and moves with the agility of a ballerina, and somehow Jessica had imagined what he looked like under his armour, and it wasn’t this. He’s not Luke, no, but he’s still a pretty big guy, now spread and sprawled for her, breathing so hard his shoulders are shaking a little. The power is momentarily intoxicating, because he looks _incredible_ like this, and Jessica thinks about saying something to him about it, but she doesn’t. She never does.

Instead, she smooths up the back of Murdock’s thick thighs, all taut muscle and strained potential, and palms the cheeks of that glorious ass. She doesn’t need super senses to hear the way Matt’s breathing jumps and shakes, to see the way he’s fighting to hold still for her, and yeah, it’s a trip that she has to blink away, because this is _Matt_ , stupid devil outfit and awkward smirks and hey, apparently kind of easy. 

“You have to tell me if I hurt you,” she remembers to say, “because I swear to god I am running out and letting your friend with the stupid name deal with all this if I rupture something.”

“You won’t rupture anything,” Matt bites off, face pressed to the sheets, but Jessica forces herself to stay still until he allows: “okay. I’ll tell you if you’re hurting me.”

Jessica doubts that he will, but at least she’s got some kind of verbal promise, and that’s good enough for her to line up the head of the dildo and push.

It takes time, because this fake cock is unreasonably large – apparently Matt’s a masochist, which is a surprise to precisely _no one_ – and no matter how much control Matt does or doesn’t have over his body he can’t force it to take more than it wants to. Jessica concentrates on her breathing and his, and occasionally adds extra lube, and tries to think more about how much she’d like him not to have a terrible fatal sex accident and not on the way every movement of her hips grinds her clit against the harness, makes her clench around the dildo inside her. It’s not enough yet, but it feels good, and she could easily chase it regardless of Matt’s feelings if she’s not careful. Matt makes small noises, twitches, fingers tightening in the sheets, but he stays still, and for a moment it’s terrifying because Jessica has never liked being handed vulnerable things, always certain of dropping them.

The moment passes though, and then it’s just Jessica and the heat jumping in her cunt and Matt Murdock’s cocky mouth casually silenced for once, legs spread wide and spine a long curve like an open road in front of her. Jessica thinks of three terrible driving metaphors, makes a mental note that maybe she’ll tell Trish about this after all just so she can use them, and bucks her hips the last couple inches. Matt fucking _whimpers_ when the front of her thighs meet the backs of his, and Jessica smooths a hand down his back, digs her nails in halfway down for the way it makes him hiss, roil a little beneath her, a livewire looking for its spark.

“Not bad, Murdock,” she remarks, and his mouth opens – lawyers always want the last word – but doesn’t manage more than a jagged moan as she pulls back, dragging the dildo out by degrees, leaving her nails digging into his hip to ground him. She leaves just the head inside before she pushes back in, not too hard, but a hard enough to force the breath out of Matt. He drops even further, face pressing into his sheets, a full-body shiver running through him. Jessica can feel it in the pit of her stomach, the urge to fuck and claim and _ruin_ , and it’s not as bad or ugly as it sounds, and maybe all Matt needs from time to time is for someone to drag the stick out of his ass and replace it with a cock instead.

Jessica’s rhythm starts jerky but gets better; it’s hard work, harder than she anticipated, fucking Matt hard enough to make the restless half-movements of his hips turn into an urgent slamming back, craving more no matter what she gives him. At first it’s not about her at all, but then Matt seems to be doing a chunk of the work for her, moving with her pace, and Jessica can grind her clit against the harness, against Matt’s willing ass, her cunt clenching tighter around the toy inside it. Her own breathing is getting thick and ragged, so loud she can barely hear the obscene smacking noises of their thighs slapping together – Matt will have bruises in the morning, which he’ll probably be delighted about – the slurp and squish and slide of the lube. It’s dirty and urgent and good, like fighting, and Jessica’s not about to build a team of superpowered humans by suggesting they all fuck beforehand, but it’s not the worst idea ever.

She must’ve said something like that aloud, because Matt laughs, squirms. “Can’t see the other two going for that.”

“That’s ‘cause you can’t see the way Danny’s looking at Luke,” Jessica tells him, pushing in deep, humping against him for the way it makes her cunt burn.

Matt laughs a little, but it’s strangled, and Jessica leans forward to knot a hand in his hair, tug just hard enough. Matt fucking _whines_ , and it’s so damn much Jessica feels it like a punch to the gut, a sweep of full-body arousal that leaves her scrabbling for a moment. God, she doesn’t really want more than this night, this experiment or bonding exercise or trainwreck or whatever they’ll call it with hindsight, but the prospect of taking the time to peel Matt apart, find out just how far he can be pushed: well, it’s not an unappealing thought, anyway.

Jessica keeps her hand in his hair, erratically pulling in a way that has nothing to do with the messy rhythm she’s fucking Matt with, but that seems to be good anyway, if the way Matt’s writhing beneath her is any indication. She’d love the leverage to sink her teeth into Matt’s shoulder, leave him one more bruise that’ll be lost among the ones he’s already got, but Jessica’s not overambitious these days and definitely not bendy enough to achieve that. Instead, she keeps moving, short, hard thrusts that feel like punches, and Matt keeps his face pressed to the sheets and whines thickly, wordless and lost and shaking.

At one point, she thinks Matt told them he was sensitive – he can hear and smell and taste things better than anyone else can, it’s logical that his sense of touch is elevated as well – but Jessica’s forgotten that, busy slamming into Matt hard enough that she can feel the bed moving too, and she should pull back but she can’t. Everything is sweat and sound and heat, and Matt’s skin is flushed and it’s impossible to resist a sharp swat to the gorgeous curve of his left ass cheek; a little harder than she would on a normal person, sure, but Matt can take it. He shouts, a broken, half noise, and comes like a gunshot. Jessica is a little startled because Matt wasn’t even _touching_ himself, his cock is hidden somewhere beneath her against the ruined sheets, but apparently he doesn’t need that, apparently this was enough.

She could tease him, maybe, but she doesn’t want to. This is too good, and even Jessica remembers not to wreck things from time to time.

She fucks Matt though his orgasm, slower and more careful now, though the need is still rising in her and it’d be easier to ignore Matt and work herself to her own crescendo at this point. He’s beautiful like this, though, and Jessica enjoys the sight because she’s never been averse to eye candy, especially when it’s a pleasured mess and most of that’s her fault. 

Matt drags himself away from her before Jessica can start to work out the logistics of pulling out – she catches a glimpse of the dark gape of his swollen asshole before he’s scrambling around, moving by feel but disoriented, like one decent orgasm can throw off all his other senses. That’s a thought to play with at some point, but Jessica’s distracted by now, as Matt might be lurching like someone drunk, but his hands are efficient enough as he deftly unbuckles the strap-on from her, and yeah, okay, that’s _hot_ , Jessica can allow that. He swiftly pulls the straps away from her, and he’s not quite gentle enough pulling the smaller dildo from her cunt, but before Jessica can complain, Matt’s buried his face in her wet cunt, mouth warm and eager against her skin.

Matt’s stubble is rough against her thighs, but it’s still good when Jessica clamps her thighs around his head, curls her fingers in his wrecked hair and rides his face. Matt pushes his tongue inside her and groans, wraps one big hand around the outside of her thigh and encourages her to shift angle, and Jessica looks up at his ceiling, striped with its constantly changing neon, and feels the slow unwind of her orgasm in her stomach pick up speed. Matt’s infuriatingly good at this, sucking her clit just the right side of too hard; Jessica takes a breath and then another and feels the last drop, the gentle scrape of Matt’s teeth against her, and then she’s coming, crying out louder than she meant to, slamming a hand into the wall beside her.

When she comes down again, Matt is still sprawled lazily between her thighs, face shining and cheeks flushed and hair sticking up in sweaty clumps. His eyes are looking beyond her, but the shit-eating grin on his face is aimed straight at her.

“Yeah,” Jessica allows, “so you’re pretty good at that.”

“So I’m told.” Matt finally rolls away from her, wincing a little, but at least he doesn’t need hospitalising; Jessica can cope if Daredevil’s walking funny for a couple of days, he knew what he was getting into.

“Hey,” she remarks, slumping down against his pillows, “I could’ve crushed your skull with my thighs there.”

Matt grins, shakes his head a little. “But you didn’t,” he says.

“No,” Jessica agrees, in a tone that’s about as soft as she ever gets, “I guess I didn’t.”


End file.
